Draco's Secret
by Sheriff Eva
Summary: Postsecret as Inspiration. Starts out with Draco's secret. Not DH or HBP compatible. THere's some sexual references and mild swearing, but no smut.
1. Damn Squid

**_Author's Note: This is a one-shot, but if anyone likes it, I could continue... It would most likely be D/Hr, but I guess I could manage D/H or D/G. Please review, I know it isn't great and I tried to keep it short, but tell me what I need to fix. Love and Bagels, and without further ado:_**

**Draco's Secret **

**By: Sheriff Ev.**

"_I made deer hump."_

* * *

Draco Malfoy was irritated to no end. This much was obvious to his fellow Slytherins. They were, however, befuddled as to why. Lights were strewn among the building; carollers were Silencio-d; that oaf, Hagrid had broken his wrist Christmas tree hunting and Madame Puddifoot's had their Gingerbread Pancake special, in other words, 'tis the season to be jolly. Well, as jolly as the Slytherin variety come. Which isn't very much, but there was still much fun to be had. They were intrigued. 

Pansy ventured a guess, "Maybe, his father is angry because he lost to Potter at Quidditch--"

Theodore Nott made the mistake of interrupting. "Again! Merlin's Beard! You'd think Potter was Viktor bloody Krum! Although to be honest, His broom-handling techniques are brilliant! I mean, really…! It isn't that…" Pansy silenced him her famed, "HOMG! It's a werewolf, it's a dementor… No! It's PANSY PARKINSON!" look.

"As I was saying, maybe his father's angry at him and won't buy him a Firebolt V2.0."

"Maybe… or his parents are breaking up?" suggested Millicent Bulstrode.

"Really, Milly, they're the Malfoys. They don't 'break up.'" Pansy sighed, as condescendingly as sighs could be. "Maybe, they're having a child."

"No, I heard Narcissa Malfoy had to get her baby weight magicked off last time!" said Daphne Greengrass, the Slytherin resident "Rita Skeeter".

"Maybe, they're sending him to Durmstrang!" They shuddered at the thought.

"Maybe his dad found out about his Hufflepuff fetish." snickered Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise, that's _your_ Hufflepuff fetish. Draco is in a loving and committed relationship. With me." Pansy couldn't let Draco's reputation get ruined like that. Or her own, for that matter.

"Hufflepuffs?!" scoffed Theodore, "Why?"

"Hey man, I'm not the one talking about Harry Potter's 'broom-handling techniques'"

Theodore turned a deep shade of scarlet. "I didn't mean it like _that_."

The conversation continued in that vein, until Crabbe suggested that maybe, it was because Flitwick was short. That always made Crabbe mad.

_Bloody turncoats_, he thought. The walls of the dungeon were thin enough for Draco to hear exactly what they were saying. Theodore's talks of Potter's "broom-handling techniques" were particularly starting to bother him. It was when he found himself agreeing with Crabbe's statement about Flitwick's height that he decided he should probably go out for a walk. Clear his mind and such.

He strolled around the school grounds. He didn't know why he was so glum. He knew the reason he was upset, but he didn't know _why_. I mean, inside, he knew he was going to get a Dark Mark eventually. It was only a matter of time, since Voldemort had returned. He felt foolish for getting complacent with his plans. He shouldn't have allowed himself to hope for anything different. Maybe, he could still be normal Draco, just a Death Eater. That was bloody likely.

Who was normal Draco, though? Would he ever have a chance to know? How could he? It wasn't in his nature to be so subservient, but hell, he hadn't had a proper chance to try teenage rebellion. Except for Muggle music under the floorboards, he hadn't been anything but the perfect Slytherin his parents had hoped for. He couldn't see himself up against the Dark Lord. He didn't even know if he agreed with the cause. How the hell was supposed to survive the fucking war?

Personally, he hated the war. It was useless. It wasn't that thousands of people would die that bothered him so much, it was that this war was robbing Draco's future. All his hopes and dreams were for naught. Death Eater was not his future ambition. Something along the lines of rock star or Quidditch Player filled that quota. It was selfish, but it was how Draco felt. He would never be selfish again, if he didn't have to be a Death Eater. That would be selfish to wish, though. Oh bugger it, he hadn't signed up for the role of hero or villain or martyr. He was Draco Malfoy, just Draco Malfoy, and while he didn't mind Sex God to be a part of his title, he was Draco, not Malfoy, not the Dark Lord's right-hand man, and not the Slytherin Prince; and he didn't want this just as much as Potter didn't want to be the "Chosen One", but it wasn't as if anybody on _their_ side would care.

He threw a rock at the lake out of frustration. Unfortunately, the Giant Squid had intercepted it and flung it right back at him. Damn squid. He ducked, so it hit a light-up deer.

He was muttering obscenities at the Giant Squid as he noticed the sparkling, beckoning Christmas reindeers that the rock had hit. There were two of them. His eyes glinted with mischief. He positioned them so that one was standing upright behind one that was still on all fours. He laughed. He laughed and cried, and laughed until he cried. He laughed because he was so _damned_ confused, and so _damned_ scared, and yes, his life had gone to utter crap, but the deer were humping!

"_I made deer hump." _


	2. Damn Scarf

Hermione Granger

"I asked you what you wanted for Christmas. I secretly prayed your answer would be: 'you'. It wasn't… You wanted a scarf."

They say the truth sets you free. If that's true, perhaps ignorance was more gratifying. Freedom had a tendency of fucking you over. It gives you every choice you could've dreamed of, except for the one you would've chosen. The one you wanted to choose. Freedom didn't seem to realize the extent to which people go to be happy. It was a selfish concept. It was an excuse and an opportunity, and if the truth only disappoints you, then freedom is the last thing you need.

She was happy. It was very favourite time of the year. Lights were strewn across the castle, snow covered the grounds and she got a 110 on her exams… again. She was in love with her best friend. The bad days had seemed to disappear with the leaves on the snow-covered trees.

Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were strolling down Hogsmeade trying, in vain, to finish Christmas shopping. There was still the initial tension of Voldemort returning, but they were together, and happy. The idea of something as normal Christmas shopping seemed to be near impossible, but there they were, in Dervish and Banges, heatedly discussing the Blaise Zabini-Susan Bones- Hannah Abbott love triangle.

Ginny definitely had strong opinions on the matter. "Of course, it's true. Ron, have you seen him? Can someone say Sex God?"

"I second that. Definitely a Sex God." Hermione was having way too much fun.

Ron turned several shades of red and a rather pleasant hue of purple before responding. "He's a creep! What's wrong with you? He clearly gets some sadistic type of pleasure by taking advantage of poor, naive Hufflepuff girls."

"Ron, to be fair, mate, you've seen Hannah Abbott after a few bottles of Butterbeer. The girl doesn't take no for an answer. I found out the hard way." Harry had somewhat of a wistful look on his face as he said this.

"That's right, Ron! He isn't a creep, he's normal teenage boy. What would you do?" Ginny exclaimed, clearly catching on to the game of infuriating Ron. Maybe she should talk about how nice Malfoy's new haircut looks?

Ron glared at them coldly. "You're on my side, Hermione? Right? He's just a crazy pervert with something of a Hufflepuff fetish?"

Hermione looked at him, pityingly. This was rather sad to be honest. "Blaise Zabini's personal life isn't about sides, Ronald"

"Theodore Nott's is, though. As in, what side is he keeping for? If I didn't know better, I could've sworn he had a crush on you, mate." Ron said to Harry.

Harry rolled his eyes at the blatant changing of subjects and replied. "Ron, if a Slytherin praises my Quidditch skills, it just means they're not completely blind. It doesn't mean they love me."

"Yeah, but I heard he was discussing your broom handling techniques." Ron countered, smugly.

Hermione could see that Harry was getting uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. She coyly changed the subject. "Hey, Ron, what do you want for Christmas?"

"Subtle, Hermione" Harry said sarcastically.

"Do shut up. I actually need to know. I haven't bought anything yet." Hermione was clearly agitated by his ungratefulness.

"I don't know... I don't think you can quite buy it." Ron said, turning a bit pink around the ears.

Hermione quickly changed her disposition. "What is it, Ron? You don't know unless you ask. Who knows? I might even say yes."

"I... Well… How do I tell you this?" Ron was now turning red at an alarming rate. This was probably not good for him at all.

"Stop dithering, Get on with it." Harry was amused by his hesitance.

"Well… okay. I want Chudley Cannons scarf." Ron had finally said it, and an awkward silence ensued.

"A scarf?" Hermione could barely raise her voice above a whisper.

Ron's eyes sparkled with glee, "Yeah. It is limited edition and…"

Hermione didn't stick around to hear him sing praises about a bloody scarf. What had gone wrong? She thought they were fine. He was acting so much nicer towards her, doing little things for her like opening doors to classrooms and feeding Crookshanks. But the worst wasn't that her love was unrequited.

The worst was all the feelings that came rushing back to her. Just like in the spring, when the snow melts and the leaves grow back, they returned. In her love-bliss phase, all her insecurities and worries were set aside. They were bottled away in a corner of her mind where she couldn't acknowledge them. Now that the metaphorical band-aid had been ripped off, she could see the ugly wound beneath.

She felt stupid. She was making a fool of herself. They didn't care about her beyond any normal friend-type care, and she couldn't blame them. She probably wouldn't care about her, either. It was just that she was the one who had to live with herself. She was the one who had to live with the fact that she wasn't worth any more than a scarf. It wasn't knowing all of that, which hurt. It was knowing that she deserved it that stung the most. In the scheme of things, she'd like to believe that she was as indispensable to them as they were to her, but the truth was, she wasn't.

There was a war going on. They were in the middle of revolution. Lines were to be drawn. Amidst all of that, she wanted them, needed them to be with her. She didn't know if she could be 'just friends" with Ron. She was selfish and immature.

She could hear a strange sound coming from somewhere and it took her a minute to realize it was her. She then realized she's run quite a bit. She was nearly back at Hogwarts, and the lake was clearly visible from where she was standing. She walked to the school with her demons for company.

She had calmed down, and nearly reached her destination, when an odd glimmer caught her eye. She walked back to the lake and followed some grunting noises until she reached the source of lights and sounds. It was Draco Malfoy, just as jaded as she was, making deer hump. She laughed like a loon.


End file.
